


Defy Gravity

by WordsmithMusings



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Enemies to Friends, F/M, First Dates, Fluff, Ginny Weasley mentioned - Freeform, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Pansy Parkinson Mentioned, Post-Canon, dramione - Freeform, post christmas fluff, wicked the musical - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:08:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22047655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsmithMusings/pseuds/WordsmithMusings
Summary: What happens when Hermione Granger finally agrees to go on a date with Draco Malfoy to see a muggle play? Will she learn to trust her feelings and Defy Gravity?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 12
Kudos: 51





	Defy Gravity

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year loves! I originally wrote this as apart of my multi-chapter fic Love & Quidditch, but as the story progressed it became increasingly apparent that this scene would no longer work in the story as written. (Thanks Muses!) I couldn't bring myself to get rid of it, and as I read and reread it, I realized with some tweaking it would be a cute one-shot. So here we are! 
> 
> Just as a note, a foreign language is spoken, the first few exchanges are written in the language with the translation in (English) behind it. After that, anytime the language is spoken, it is denoted in **bold**. Hopefully, that's not too confusing. 
> 
> Beta'd by Grammarly so if you see any errors let me know, and as always, it's JKR's world. I just play in it cause it makes me happy. I also don't own the rights to Wicked or Defy Gravity - which the title is obviously derived from and was inspired by. 
> 
> Happy Reading! 
> 
> xx the Wordsmith

###  **Defy Gravity**

Hermione leaned forward in her box. Her breath catching as the words to the song rolled over her in a sweeping tide of emotion. She felt as if each word was meant for her, and wondered if sitting next to Draco Malfoy himself as she heard them was what was making them feel so powerful. Glancing over at Draco, she was surprised to see his mouth moving with every word. He said it was a play he’d seen once before, but the impact on him had been great.

“It’s a show I really enjoyed," he told her the previous day when he asked her if she’d like to join him, "and I have an extra ticket. My mother was supposed to come with me, but she can’t getaway. And well, it’s a muggle play, and I thought you might enjoy it.” There was something in his tone, in the way he was looking at his feet, the slightly unsure way Draco was holding himself as if he was sure she would say no, but that he had to ask all the same that caught her attention. 

Hermione's work in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and Draco's work in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, often meant the two childhood rivals had to work together. Through their years of working at the Ministry, they had coordinated dozens of meetings and events together, and through them, all Draco remaind calm, cool, and collected. A direct contrast to the man he was presenting at the moment. True, they had formed an unlikely friendship through the years as they worked together; true Draco was still a git, and Hermione was still a know-it-all, but there was an underlying tension that seemed to bubble between them. “Sexual tension,” Ginny would say with a knowing smirk, but Hermione brushed her off. It was Draco perfect pureblood Malfoy after all. Yet, there was something in his body language that day that screamed at her that he was trying, really trying, to help her see him clearly, for the first time, if only she would let him.

All at once, Hermione heard Ginny’s voice in her head, their conversation from the previous weekend running through her mind ss she considered him. "Are you sure you even know him at all, Hermione?" Ginny asked over their second glass of wine. "I mean, you've never really given him a proper chance, have you? You really don’t know him. Not properly." Hermione gaped at her friend, wondering what she was going on about. She and Draco had basically known each for half their lives at this point. True, he wasn't the pompous ass he was when they were children. He wasn't a bully by any means, having made his apologies almost as soon as they had begun to work together years before. "But do you know who Draco is? What he's like? You work with him almost every day, it seems, but do you know anything real about him? Hell, I bet Harry knows him better than you do, and they only see each other twice a week."

The conversation had bristled, and Hermione couldn't understand why. Still standing there, at that moment, it was all she could think of. 

Before she could stop herself, before she could change her mind, she was saying yes. “Yes, Draco, I’d love to. Thank you for asking.” Was what she said, but it was more of what the hell? After all, what would she lose? She knew from work he was witty and intelligent, hard-working, and timely. A persistent flirt that got under her skin. She also knew he chewed with his mouth closed and had wonderful manners, along with being very easy on the eyes. 'Fine,' she thought to herself, 'We’ve been dancing around each other for too long. Let’s see how you are in my world. That'll show me who you are.'

The smile he gave her when she accepted was for lack of a better word dazzling. Hermione long considered him handsome, you’d have to be dead really to NOT think Draco Malfoy was good looking in one way or another, but at that moment, she was floored by how gorgeous he was when he smiled. Not that smirk or smug thing that so often crossed his face when she was working with him in the Ministry, but this smile, broad and toothy that revealed the hint of a dimple hidden within his stubble covered cheek. Stubble that was too perfect to be accidental and was the kind of thing you only saw in muggle magazines filled with celebrities on red carpets. And that smile, bright and shining and Merlin, genuine as it was, was currently focused on her. All because of one simple little word. Because she said yes, it was a heady feeling, and emotion, she decided, feeling her knees buckle slightly under the weight of it all. 

That feeling only tripled when he picked her up the next night, dressed flawlessly in a Hugo Boss suit in black on black on black. She supposed on anyone else the purposed layering of black would look out of place. It was a look most commonly used for villainous mobsters on tv or sparkly vampires in movies, but on Draco, with his fair skin and platinum locks, the effect was as breath-taking as it was effortless. Whereas in school, the look had made him look sinister, the look now screamed sophistication and class. His charcoal grey coat, which she was sure was Burberry, rested comfortably on his arm; Hermione was once again reminded of a movie star and wondered what the hell a man like him saw in a plain girl like her. 

Yet she didn't feel plain, standing in front of him in her house, watching his smile grow as his silver eyes swept across her body from head to toe. He had teased her the day before, after she said yes, asking her if she knew how to dress appropriately for the theater. 

_“Sure, Malfoy, you just throw on some pants and a nice shirt.”_

_“Some pants! Merlin Granger, it’s the theater on Saturday night. You don’t just toss on some pants.”_

_“Are you trying to tell me how to dress, Malfoy?”_

_“Would I dare insult you that way? I was merely asking if you had an experience with proper etiquette. It’s not like I’m taking you to a Matinee at the Cinema.”_

_“Oh, so you’re saying I’m good enough to for the Cinema and not the theater?” she bristled, irritated with his pompous self._

_“Well, that’ll depend on how tomorrow goes.” His answer caused her retort to die in her mouth, and the damn Ferrett had the nerve to wink at her and tell her whatever she wore would be fine._

"Do I look alright?" she asked in a voice that belied the nerves she felt. In truth, while her style had evolved through the years, she felt more confident in her skin than ever. Until they had had that blessed conversation the day before, and she found herself suddenly second-guessing herself. The idea of going to the theater with Draco, sent her into full out panic as she tried to decide what was and was not appropriate after all. She had gone through half her closet, Ginny's and Pansy Parkinson's before finally narrowing it down to three options. But it was January in England, which meant cold and bleak, and being in the muggle world meant a little less reliance on warming charms and a bit more reliance on layers. 

Ginny had argued for the little black dress. “It’s classic, Hermione. You cannot go wrong with a little black dress. For any occasion.”

Pansy had argued for the far more proper floor-length blue silk skirt with a white button-down tucked in for a bit of edge, and cheek. “It’s prim and proper and still on-trend, Granger. It shows you’re flirty but understand what it takes to be a true lady. Narcissa Malfoy would surely approve.”

“You are not going on a date with Narcissa Malfoy. You are going on a date with her hot son,” countered Ginny, her wine sloshing in her glass.

Ultimately, she hadn’t gone with either of their choices. She was still questioning whether it was the right decision when Draco rang her doorbell. But now, standing in front of him, as his eyes traveled up and down her body in blatant appraisal, Hermione was glad she decided to thumb her nose at him. “I know it’s pants,” she began only to have him cut her off. “They’re perfect. You look perfect.”

Hermione blushed at his words, and without thought, spun herself around so he could see the whole outfit. She blushed at the heat in his gaze when his eyes finally met hers. Apparently, her idea to compromise between her friends, when combined with her own style, was the right decision, after all. 

What Hermione had chosen in the end, was a simple black pantsuit. The top was a halter, that accentuated her full breasts, showing a hint of skin at the side. The fabric nipped in at her waist, highlighting the curve of her waist before skimming over her hips and clinging just enough to show off how long her legs were without being indecent. Naturally, Hermione charmed the pockets with her favorite undetectable extension charm so she could forgo carrying a purse. Her hand grazed her wand, which was attached to a hidden pocket spelled not to get lost in the depths. Her face was lightly enhanced with a little makeup - a touch of bronzer, hint of gloss, eyeliner and a swipe of mascara on her eyes. 

Hermione pulled her hair into a faux textured bob. Her curls corralled more to one side, the effect drawing the eye down her graceful neck and across her bare shoulders and back. 

It was a risk, to show so much skin in January, to the theater and when she wasn’t sure if whatever this night was was a date. But for some reason, she had wanted to wow Draco. 

Just in case, it was a date. 

Not that she admitted that to anyone, let alone herself. 

She held her red trench coat in her hands and didn’t dare deny Draco when he asked if he could take it for her, shrinking it as well as his coat before slipping them both into his pants pocket. 

She mumbled a thank you, which she was sure sounded more like _I don’t trust my voice right now, and I have no idea what I’ve gotten myself into._

Draco asked if she was ready, and she wondered if he meant, _are you prepared to go out on a date with me?_ Because everything about this screamed date, even to her own, unsure doubting brain. But she said yes anyway because really wasn’t it too late now since he was standing on her foyer slipping a seashell from his pocket.

“Hang tight,” he whispered, slipping his arm around her as she reached to touch the seashell, realizing too late that it was a portkey and feeling that most dreaded and uncomfortable pull at her navel.

Squeezing her eyes tight, she waited for the world to stop spinning, and felt his arm tighten momentarily around her waist as he asked if she was ok. Nodding, she choked back a gag and hissed that he was supposed to warn someone before doing that. Draco grimaced, looking genuinely apologetic, “I’m sorry, I just didn’t want to be late for dinner.”

Before she could ask where exactly dinner was supposed to be, he was guiding her out of the alley and into a busy street, she shivered but not from cold, noting that crisp January air of England seemed to be missing from wherever they were. Instead, the shiver stemmed from the feeling of Draco’s steady calloused hand upon the bare skin of her back. They walked in silence for several blocks, Draco’s hand never straying far from the small of her back or her hip as he guided them through the crowds of people up on the street. Hermione found herself too interested in trying to piece together where exactly they were to be bothered by the intimacy of the contact, and Draco himself content to let her work it out for herself versus give her the obvious answer. 

Just as she was ready to give up, Draco turned them down another alley, and through a door that swung open just as they approached. Walking directly to the host stand, Draco was greeted enthusiastically by the large man standing next to it, “¡Bienvenido señor Malfoy! Ha pasado tanto tiempo desde la última vez que te hemos visto.” (“Welcome, Mr. Malfoy! It has been so long since we last saw you.”)

“Hola Eduardo. Es bueno verte, pero pensé que habíamos discutido esto. El Sr. Malfoy es mi padre,” ("Hi Eduardo. Good to see you, but I thought we’d discussed this. Mr. Malfoy is my father,”) replied Draco. His Spanish as smooth as the native man, who laughed affably at his words, pulling him in for one of those man hugs that involved a simultaneous handshake and pat on the back.

“Ah, pero te veías tan grande vestida así con una hermosa mujer en tus brazos. Es fácil olvidar que todavía eres simplemente ese niño pequeño que solía rogarme por los conos de nieve, Draco.” (“Ah, but you looked so grown up dressed like that with a beautiful woman in your arms. It's easy to forget that you're still just that little boy who used to beg me for snow cones, Draco.”)

Draco laughed heartily, admitting that he did miss Eduardo’s delicious snow cones.

**"And who is this lovely woman you brought with you tonight?”** asked Eduardo turning his attention towards Hermione with a nod.

**“I’m Hermione. It's nice to meet you, Eduardo,”** she replied, her Spanish as flawless as the men she was with. If Draco was surprised, he didn’t let it show besides a small smirk and shake of his head while Eduardo was pleasantly surprised by her perfect accent.

**"The pleasure is all mine, Hermione,"** cooed Eduardo, grasping her hand in his much larger one and placing a kiss across her knuckles. Leaning forward, he loudly whispered, **“Blink twice if he brought you here against your will, and you need help.”**

Hermione giggled, delighted at the older man’s antics, as Draco scoffed, stating she did agree to be his date for the evening. ‘Did I?’ she thought, tucking the word date away to dissect later before returning to Eduardo. **"I agreed to accompany him tonight, but he didn't tell me where we were going."**

“Ah. Well,” replied Eduardo switching to English, “that makes your masterful use of our language all the more pleasant. Welcome to Cuba, Hermosa. May I show you to your table?” Hermione gratefully accepted his arm, casting a glance to Draco as she mouthed “CUBA!” as they walked by. Draco flashed her that natural smile again, and she felt her knees go weak despite herself.

Dinner was a revelation. Drinks and conversation flowed smoothly between them, much to Hermione’s surprise. She had decided to cast all cares to the wind and focus solely on getting to know this Draco, seeing him for the man that he had become and not the boy he had been. Eduardo had kept the drinks and stories coming, leaving Hermione in fits of laughter as Draco muttered and blushed in English and Spanish. His happy relationship with Eduardo revealing many stories about Draco’s childhood spent hiding in the restaurant while his father kept doing business in one of the adjacent offices above them. She laughed at the antics of a mischievous and curious boy and a gentleman that had sought to take advantage and teach him a few lessons in return. Hermione had refused a menu, telling both men that she deferred to their tastes, and just requested no fish or anything extremely spicy, and had been pleasantly surprised at the dishes that had soon covered the table.

As they had finished their last bite of dinner, a loud ruckus could be heard as a door suddenly slammed, and a bustling loud woman in her mid-70s came rushing into the main dining room. Draco had been on his feet within seconds, cursing under his breath as the woman spotted him and came rushing to him, a wooden spoon in one hand and an apron still around her waist.

**“You bring a beautiful woman to my restaurant, and you and my son don't even think about telling me! Where is the respect? I couldn't even make you your favorite dish! It's an outrage!”**

Draco had dodged the spoon she was wielding, apologizing as profusely as Eduardo was behind her. Hermione barely contained her laugh at watching him try and soothe her, before gapping as he grabbed her in a massive hug, pinning her spoon wielding arm to her side. Of all the things Hermione would’ve said about Draco, being a hugger was not one of them. Yet, seeing him with his arms around this woman, pulling back to look down into her face, and quickly whispering something to her with a soft smile felt more revealing than every childhood story she had ever heard. She had seen Draco with Narcissa and even his Aunt Andy and had never seen anything more than polite kisses to the cheeks shared as signs of affection. Yet, he was laughing, smiling, and apologizing as he continued to hold this woman in the hug, one would give a favorite grandmother.

Hermione was shaken out of her reverie, as three sets of eyes fell on her. Stumbling to her feet, she smiled kindly as Draco introduced her to Yolanda, Eduardo’s mother, and the head cook in the kitchen.

**“Yoya, this is my friend Hermione Granger. We went to school together and work together now. She is the youngest Department Head in a century. Hermione, this is my Yoya. She’s made all the food we ate tonight.”**

**“It's an honor to meet you, Yolanda,”** Hermione said kindly, choosing not to use the familiar name Draco introduced her with. **“Your food is delicious,”** she added sweetly, offering the woman her hand.

Yolanda’s eyebrows shot up, and she took Hermione’s hand, shaking it firmly. **“It’s Yoya, Hija, and the pleasure is mine. Your Spanish is excellent.”** The older woman studied her carefully for a moment, **“Draco has told me much about you. He said you were beautiful and intelligent, but I see many other things: wisdom, goodness, and grace. ”** Hermione blushed at her words. She stepped closer to Hermione, studying her carefully for a moment, before speaking again, her voice low, **“You bring out something wonderful in him. It is good to see him smiling again. He deserves to be happy.”**

Hermione’s eyes darted to where Draco was standing, talking in hushed tones to Eduardo and felt herself blush further still. **“He does deserve to be happy,”** she replied softly, **“but I don’t think I could take any responsibility for that.”**

Yolanda smiled knowingly at her. **"Don't be so sure about that, hija."**

**“Mama,** ” said Eduardo interrupting them, **“they have tickets to the theater. They must be leaving soon.”**

**“No,”** replied Yolanda, brandishing her spoon as a weapon at Draco again. **“You haven’t had coffee or dessert. Sit. I know what you like.”**

**"Yes, Yoya, of course, but we have to leave soon."** Yolanda scoffed at him and headed back towards the kitchen, Eduardo rolling his eyes and shaking his head behind her.

Draco and Hermione retook their seats, and she smiled indulgently as he attempted to apologize for Yolanda’s animated entrance. What he really meant was, _wow even in another country old ladies embarrass me._ Hermione dismissed him with a laugh. “It’s sweet, Draco. I like her.”

Draco shook his head, “She’s something all right.”

“You like her.”

A smile crossed his face, “I love her. She’s incredible, and she likes to feed me.”

“She reminds me of Mrs. Weasley.”

“Please don’t insult my Yoya,” Draco replied with a grimace.

Hermione chuckled. “I like seeing you like this,” she said softly. Draco’s eyes lifted to hers, a question on his lips. She pressed on, cutting him off. “I like seeing you relaxed and laughing. Merlin, I didn’t know you had so many teeth!” Draco chuckled softly. “It’s interesting to see you with your walls down. To see you around people that express their love for you, and you for them.” 

A comfortable silence stretched between them in the moments between, as it had all night. But, it was a silence neither of them seemed to mind, and when they finished their perfect café con leches, eaten more dessert than they had room for, and promised to return soon, they had slipped comfortably out of the restaurant. 

Draco reached for her hand without thinking, and she slipped her hand into his without thinking. As they walked, she marveled at the way their fingers intertwined just so, as the silence between them stretched on. He gave her hand a little squeeze as they walked, nodding his head towards an alleyway, and she smiled softly, ducking her head to hide once again the blush that came unbidden.

“Would you mind?” he asked, handing her the box of pastries that Yolanda insisted they take with them. She smiled and shrank the box, placing a stasis charm on it, as Draco removed their coats from his pocket, returning them to their original sizes. Hermione didn’t rant about her ability to put her jacket on herself, as Draco helped her into it without asking. She dropped the food box into her pocket, "undetectable extension charm," she mumbled to Draco when he raised an eyebrow at her. 

A shiver ran over her as Draco slipped his hand around her waist again. His thumb grazing the bare skin at the small of her back.

  
  


“Ready?” he asked, holding a snowglobe in his hand. “Yes,” Hermione breathed, answering more than the simple question held, as she placed her finger on the snow globe and once again felt the pull at her navel.

This time she was more prepared for it, and her landing was just as smooth thanks to the ironclad grip Draco had on her waist, as if he was afraid that she would disappear at any moment or that he would wake up and realize this had all been a dream. Dinner had gone far better than he had hoped, and he knew they were both pleasantly buzzed from the continuous flow of cocktails. He enjoyed having her body so close to his. The way her soft curves pressed against the hard planes of his body just so.

Begrudgingly removing his arm from her waist, he tucked the snowglobe back in his pocket. Noticing the full-body shiver that swept over her, he absently pulled her coat closer around her body, tying the belt tightly around her waist, before removing his scarf from his pocket and wrapping it around her neck. She smiled gratefully, ignoring the second shiver that swept over her as the smell of Draco filled her nose. A combination of bergamot and sandalwood with a hint of jasmine. It was at once comforting and warming and entirely too sensual. Which, at the moment, felt like the perfect description for this Draco.

Offering her his arm, Draco tucked Hermione's hand into the crook of his elbow; his other hand buried into his pocket as he led her out of the alleyway and into the busy city street. Hermione felt herself gasp at the change not just of temperature but of energy, realizing in an instant that they were now in New York City, headed towards a theater Hermione recognized from countless television specials watched with her parents during her childhood.

Draco presented the tickets and escorted her inside the beautiful theater. There were remnants of Christmas decorations surrounding the lobby. The fairy lights giving the hall a bit of extra magic. Draco led her to the cost check, once again helping her with her coat. They followed the usher insider to their box seats, Draco's hand firmly planted on the bare skin in the center of Hermione's back. The warmth of his palm giving her chills and clouding her mind slightly. 

Once they were seated, Hermione felt her jaw drop open as she gazed around. The seats were spectacular. 

“Have you been to the theater before?” Draco asked her, handing her a playbill. She hadn’t even seen him grab it, but as her eyes cast over the cover page, she felt her eyes widen. She wasn't sure how she missed that they just breezed into a sold-out performance of the most popular show currently on Broadway.

“Yes,” she breathed again, “my parents and I visited New York when I was 10. They brought me to see a few of their favorite plays. I enjoyed them immensely.”

“I thought you might like this. I’m sorry I didn’t think to tell you it was a musical.”

“It’s ok. I love musicals,” Hermione confessed, barely able to contain her energy. Draco laughed softly as the lights dimmed, and she bounced excitedly in her seat. The opening trills of the overture sending them both into the kind of trance that only live theater can provide.

And now, as they sat together, Hermione watched Draco as he sang along softly, his eyes focused on the actors on the stage. At some point, their hands had intertwined and were now resting in her lap. Every once in awhile, Hermione would squeeze his hand out offers or anticipation or joy as the music washed over her, and the story unfolded before them. Hermione felt her magic vibrating inside of her. She was aware it was not just in response to the show, but to the man beside her. 

Draco was nothing like she imagined. The thoughts running through her head scaring her slightly at their suddenness. Well no, not sudden she mused, they had been dancing around each other for months. Years if she was honest, and now… Hermione closed her eyes, listening. 

> _“I'm through accepting limits_
> 
> _'Cause someone says they're so_
> 
> _Some things I cannot change_
> 
> _But 'til I try, I'll never know!”_

As the show ended, the words from the song continued to play in her mind, and Hermione felt something inside her settle. When Draco turned to her, his eyes shining and a wide grin on his face, she felt her breath catch. For a moment, she thought to pull her hand from his, but Draco would have none of it. Instead, rubbing circles over the back of her hand with his thumb as he spoke. “Did you enjoy it?” he asked. 

“I loved it,” she replied, feeling herself blush at her enthusiasm. “Thank you for bringing me.” Chocolate eyes met grey, and she hoped they were showing that something in her had changed, that this moment, this night, had changed her.

“Your beautiful,” he told her, “have I told you that tonight?” She shook her head, no. “You are Hermione. So beautiful.” He didn’t say tonight because he meant more than just tonight that she was beautiful to him, not only tonight but all the time. That he felt like the luckiest man on earth with her by his side. Her smile radiant, and just for him. Maybe not all her smiles, but the pink in her cheeks. Those were his. Because of him. He lived to see the way her skin flushed when he smiled at her just so when he winked at her. The way she ducked her head, and that glorious shade spread across her cheeks and the smattering of freckles across her nose. He longed to see how far it reached. To her neck. To her chest. His hand twitched to touch the exposed skin at her back again. To feel its silky softness under his palm. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, forcing himself to get off the path he was headed down.

A wicked smile graced her face as if she knew where his mind had been heading. She stood suddenly, her hand slipping from his grasp. Draco frowned momentarily, as he stood hesitantly to join her. Offering him a warm smile, Hermione held out her hand to him, “Well, are you coming?”

Taking her hand, Draco found himself unable to stop the worse that came out of his mouth next, “I hope you’re happy now that you’re choosing this.”

She smiled. And they both knew that they weren’t quoting the song she had caught him singing. The song that swirled in her head, and shown Hermione that she needed to take a risk, to leap, and trust at this moment, in this man next to her.

“I hope you don’t live to regret it.”

And then there was no distance between them, “Never, Hermione. I will never regret this.” Then his lips were upon hers, soft and demanding and reassuring. Never she heard in her head, as her mouth moved in tandem with his. I will never regret this in the end, and suddenly she understood everything Elphaba felt as she mounted her broom and flew into the sky. Together she knew they could Defy Gravity. Together, she felt in her heart, as he pulled back, his forehead resting on hers while they caught their breath. Together, his eyes said as they met hers. Hermione nodded and was rewarded with another dazzling smile that had greeted her at the start of the night.

Yes, together sounded just right.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N Thank you for reading! Constructive comments and kudos are always welcome. Happy New Year loves! See you with more Dramione in 2020.
> 
> xx the Wordsmith


End file.
